Chapter One

The fire on the beach was dying, leaving nothing but a glowing pile of embers. At least one couple was still down there. Whispers floated up from the bushes in the cool night air. Glass shattered against a rock.

The boy shivered, crouching in the bushes beside Jordan King's cottage. His fear made every sound startle him, the snap of a twig, the flutter of night bird, the croak of a frog. In spite of the cool air, sweat soaked the back of his shirt. He could hear his heart, thumping against his ribs, pushing up in his throat. He swallowed and crept out from the shadows around the back of the house.

Someone had turned off the floodlights, but the moon was bright, throwing the deck into eerie half-light. He could see the sliding door half open. A garden chair was overturned. A brightly painted flower pot lay on its side, spilling out a trail of dying vines. There was no sign of Jordan of any of his guests.

Shouts suddenly erupted from inside the darkened cottage. A man screamed. That desperate cry changed everything. The air flowed out of the house, loaded with tension. The boy could feel it and it paralysed him. He stood, one hand against the brick wall, smelling the heady scent of geraniums mixed with cigarette smoke from the overflowing ashtrays, his eyes straining into the dimly lit room. The slim body was tense, every muscle aching for the release he was powerless to give. He could see nothing inside but the dim outlines of furniture; the table the man had danced on in those high red heels, the large cushions on the floor, the gleam of glassware on the bar. A shadow moved, and was gone.

And then the laughter began. High and wild, it was impossible to tell if it was a man or a woman. And then the sound changed again. Changed into heaving cries. It was unlike anything the boy had ever heard before, long gasping sobs that struggled for breath and then died away, only to start all over again, as if whoever this was had lost his very soul. And then there was total silence. The silence was ominous. A loon called out across the lake.

At last the boy jerked into motion, as if the weight of the silence pushed against him, forcing him into action. He crept around to the front of the house, crouching low along by the bushes until he reached the road. He began to run. His sneakered feet beat against the gravel road in unison with his heart, his arms pumping at his sides, urging him on. Faster. Faster. Wind whistled in his ears. And still he heard that unearthly cry. That high keening of a soul in pain. And he knew he could never outrun it. He kept on going, though tears almost blinded him. Goddam Jordan King! Goddam the man who had destroyed his world!